The Jacket
by Cattew
Summary: Some of the Heroes are prompted to talk about the war, long after it’s over. Please read and review, I’m pretty new at this. Also, I’m not sure if I’ll do more chapters in the future, but it is a possibility.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This was a quick thing that came to me, please tell me what you think. I'd really appreciate any advice!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes or its characters, though it'd be cool if I did.

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BULLFROG, NORTH DAKOTA, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

I can't exactly refuse them, I thought, as my mother handed me the old clothes. She was beaming, looking very proud of herself for finding the WW2-era bomber's jacket and crush cap.

"Can you believe it? They were just going to throw them away! So when I suggested taking them back home, they gave them to me for free! And you make fun of me for going to thrift stores." My mom said, tapping me on the nose playfully and walking into her room. "Now, I promised to take a picture of you wearing them, so put them on! I just need to find my camera…"

I groaned. Who knew how old these were? They were probably full of dust, and would smell like mothballs when I put them on.

I put the brown crush cap on the chair next to me and gingerly started to put on the jacket. It was made out of dark brown leather, with a small rectangle near the left shoulder that read COL R. E. HOGAN. I finished shrugging the jacket on and started to zip it up, but the zipper stuck halfway up. Cursing, I messed with it some more, but it wouldn't budge. Defeated, I turned to the cap. It was around the same color as the jacket, with a leather band around the rim and a gold eagle above it. I prayed that there were no dead bugs in it as I lightly put it on, so that it was pushed up a bit on my head.

My mom bustled back in, playing with the camera in her hands. She looked up at me, and her smile got even bigger.

"You look wonderful!" She said, still fidgeting with the camera. I stood there waiting for what seemed like ages, until finally she looked up and pointed the camera at me. "Alright, pose! 1…2…3…"

The camera clicked and I relaxed. I put one of my feet up on the chair next to me and rested my arms on my knee, staring at my mom.

"Are we done here?" I asked, causing her to look at me again.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, a twinkle in her eye, "Hold it right there! That's perfect!" She took another picture, and then went into her room with the camera.

I stayed where I was; knowing my mom she probably messed up on one or both of the pictures and would need to take more. Sadly, my mom wasn't very good with anything that needed batteries. As I stood there, the front door opened.

"Hi Grandpa," I said, not even looking at him, "Mom's in her room." I straightened and was about to try and fix the zipper again, when I realized there had been no response. Confused, I turned to look at my grandfather, who stood in the entryway.

My grandfather just stared at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. It almost looked like he was shaking, and I quickly went to stand beside him and take his elbow; his eyes following me the entire way.

"Are you okay Grandpa?" I asked, guiding him to the chair I had just been using. His eyes looked at some distant memory, and they reminded me of how they looked whenever someone brought up the war. Generally, my grandfather would sit there for a minute, and then leave quietly. I had never before had to deal with this weird phantom-like state before.

I shook him gently, "Grandpa? Grandpa, are you okay?" I asked quietly, "Grandpa?"

"You look just like him," came the hoarse whisper, "Just like how he used to be... He always wore his hat like that, and he never zipped up his jacket all of the way unless it was winter. He'd always pose like that when he was deep in thought right before a mission; you'd see him there with his foot on the bench and you'd know that the next one was going to be rough."

I stood there for a bit, confused. Realization slowly dawned on me; the outfit I was wearing must have reminded Grandpa of the war. I stayed quiet, hoping he'd say more. Grandpa never talked about the war, ever, and my mother said he'd always been like that. She only knew that he had served most of the war in a POW camp near Hammelburg, Germany.

When he didn't say anymore, I decided to prompt him slightly. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, I wasn't letting it get away.

"Who used to look like this Grandpa?" I asked. Then, looking at the name on the jacket, I asked, "Was it Colonel Hogan?"

My grandfather started at that, "Colonel Hogan was the best commanding officer anyone could ask for; he always listened to the men, no matter who they were. He did his best to protect us, especially when rations were cut and things grew scarce near the end of the war. That was when the Allies were getting closer and the Krauts had too few supplies to care for their own men, let alone take care of some foreign prisoners. I remember he used to pretend to be stuffed and would give his meal to someone else to eat. We all knew he wasn't full, there wasn't enough food to fill a mouse, but Colonel Hogan would've rather starved than let one of his men go hungry. By the time the camp was liberated, he was skin and bones. A good gust of wind could've sent him flying like tumbleweed, but the rest of us never once got close to starving, all because of him."

Then my grandfather turned to me, "I'd always wondered what happened to him after the war," he said, "When we got back to the States we lost contact and try as I might, I couldn't seem to find him."

"Oh, Grandpa Carter! I didn't realize you were visiting today!" My mother came into the room and walked over to us, "Doesn't Peter look a picture in that outfit?"

My Grandpa turned to me, as if just realizing I was there, and smiled. "Yeah, yeah he does." He said, and then turned to my mother. "Say, where'd you get it?"


	2. Chapter 2

LAMBETH, LONDON, ENGLAND

"Mail's here!" I cried out, pulling out a couple letters for me and putting the rest on the nearby table. I opened one excitedly while everyone in the house came bustling into the small sitting room.

"About time," my mother grouched as she picked up the stack and went through each letter, handing them to their respective owners. She then hurried to her room to read her weekly newspaper. It wasn't often we got mail, but it was exciting every time we did.

"Hey Grandpappy, you've got two this time!" My younger brother, William, said. "One from Pépère Louis and one from an 'Andrew Carter'…?"

I looked over at Grandpappy, who had just finished making his way into the room. His face scrunched up in confusion, "Ol' Andrew? I haven't 'eard from him in years, not since 'e had his last grandchild." He ambled closer and grabbed the letters from Willy, shuffling to the one from Andrew Carter.

"Well, what's it about?" I asked, leading Grandpappy to his favourite rocking chair, the old green one he sat in to tell us his stories about when he was a soldier, or to read Pépère Louis's letters to us.

"I don't know, I haven't opened the bloomin' thing yet." He grumbled, and I rolled my eyes. Our grandfather got irritable when we reminded him about how old he was. My mother always told us to be tolerant because he wasn't raised to accept help or show weakness, and he had a hard time breaking old habits.

Speaking of old habits… "Where are my cigarettes?" He asked, turning to me, "I need a cig before I open any bleedin' letter."

"I thought you were going to stop smoking after Momma asked you so nicely to. It's not good for your health." I said, looking at my grandfather reproachfully, "Now open the letter, we're all in suspense."

"Yeah, yeah… I suppose I'd best read it." Grandpappy said, gently ripping open the envelope.

"Well?" Willy asked, wide eyes trained on Grandpappy as he tried to climb onto the arm of the rocking chair. William was only around five, and it always annoyed me how impatient and curious he could be. I chuckled slightly; he was exactly like his Grandpappy.

I looked at Grandpappy, and I was surprised to find his face had lost all colour. He was holding what appeared to be a small Polaroid picture, which he seemed to be looking at quite intensely.

"Grandpappy?" Even William knew something was wrong, and stopped his efforts to climb up the chair.

"Willy, go get Momma." I said, never taking my eyes off of my grandfather. William stumbled a bit in his haste to get to our mother's room.

"Grandpappy Newkirk?" I asked, inching closer. There was no response, so I stood right next to him. "Grandpappy?" I asked again, touching his shoulder. He jumped slightly, and then turned to me as if remembering where he was.

"'E looks just like him…" he breathed, and then turned the picture so that I could see it. I looked at the picture closely. In it appeared to be a young boy, about my age, with dark brown hair and sparkling dark eyes. He was beaming, with one leg on the chair next to him. He looked to be in some sort of sitting or dining room, and he was wearing a halfway zipped leather jacket with a crush cap.

"Like who? Who is that?" I asked, because I certainly didn't recognize him.

"That's me mate Carter's oldest grandson," Grandpappy said, some colour returning to him at last, "and 'e looks exactly like Colonel Hogan."

"Oh," I said quietly. I didn't know what else to say. Grandpappy had told us stories about the Colonel, mainly about the last few months at Stalag 13 (the rest was classified), and I knew enough to know that Grandpappy had genuinely respected and cared about the American officer.

"He was the only officer I ever liked," Grandpappy often said, "because 'e did so much for us enlisted men. He helped us get out of some right tight fixes, usually at detriment to 'imself. Bleedin' guv'nor, when it came to 'is men's health he'd fight the 'ole German army, but if something risked 'im or 'e was in bad shape, 'e'd brush it off. Trying to take care of 'im was harder than gettin' interrogated by the bloody Gestapo."

"What happened to Colonel Hogan?" Willy always asked, "Can we meet him, can we meet him?"

But Grandpappy would usually clam up around then, "I lost touch with 'im once we 'ad been debriefed. I doubt even Kinch knows what happened to 'im."

My mother came running into the room, with little Willy close behind her, breaking into my thoughts.

"Are you alright Papa?" She asked, stopping by the chair, "Willy made it sound like you were right near death's door, 'e did."

Shaking his head, Grandpappy looked at the picture once more. "I'm alright, calm yer bleedin' 'eads," he said, and then he set the picture down.

"Say, I wonder where Ol' Andrew got that from?"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Sorry it's so late! To be honest, the chapters sort of write themselves, so even I'm not sure where this is headed! Please enjoy and review!

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BULLFROG, NORTH DAKOTA, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

"Grandpa, please just forget about this trip. You're not in the best of health, and I'd just be worried sick about you." My mom was pleading with my grandpa, who stood there with a suitcase in our doorway. He shook his head gently but insistently.

"I can't just forget about it. Newkirk said he'd meet me near Versailles, so I won't be by myself." He said, setting his bags down and taking a letter from his pocket. "You can read it yourself, if you'd like." He handed it to her, and she looked around the room.

"Peter, where are my glasses? Can you get my glasses?" She said, walking to the dining room table and looking around it. She wagged a finger towards Grandpa, "Oh, I just don't feel okay about you taking off on a plane to such a faraway place by yourself. Peter, where are my glasses?" I snickered as I walked up to her looking under a nearby chair. I flicked the thick-rimmed glasses perched atop her head. She chuckled embarrassingly, and stood up, placing her glasses down onto her nose.

"Yeah Grandpa, I sort of have to agree with Mom here. Paris is on a whole different continent, and who knows how long you'll be gone. Can't you just write another letter, be there in spirit?" I asked, walking over to him and looking into his sharp, blue eyes. I had a sense that they were lightly scolding me as I said those words, so I looked back to my mom, who was shaking her head while reading the letter.

"It's like it's a different language…" She muttered, holding the paper closer to her face, "What in the world does 'Blimey' mean? And 'the trolley'…?"

I looked back to Grandpa, who was moving to the living room, which was still adjacent to the entryway, but opposite the dining room. I walked quickly behind him, catching up as he settled himself into a crook in our old couch.

"Hey Grandpa, why does this trip mean so much to you?" I asked, standing in front of the old man. He patted the space next to him, so I sat down quickly, leaning towards him in anticipation of his answer. Grandpa Carter heaved a huge sigh and rubbed his eyes. Then, he started to speak.

"Our group back in the POW camp was a close one, Peter. We had to be, of course, given our conditions. But some of us were closer than close, we were more like family. Colonel Hogan was the head of that family. One might even call him our 'Papa Bear.' We owe it to him to try and figure out what happened to him after the war. Peter, er, the other Peter, and Louis and I want to learn more about what happened to him once we were liberated from the camp. Some of the… worse off prisoners were separated from the healthier ones. We'd all assumed he'd made it back to the States, why, I thought I might've even seen him on the plane over. But we want to be sure. While we're doing that, Louis said he'd write to Kinch and ask him to look more into that thrift store your mom got the Colonel's things from. If all ends well, we'll find him again." My Grandpa finished, leaning back. "But goodness knows if your mom'll let me."

I looked up to see my mom leaning against the living room doorway, with tears glistening in her eyes that were barely made visible in the low light by the lamp on the stand next to me. She sniffed wiped her eyes a little.

"Well, it'd be unfair of me to say 'no' now," she chuckled weakly, walking over and dropping into a chair next to the lamp stand. She looked over just in time to see her dad's face light up. "But," she added in a slightly sterner voice, "you have to take Peter, our Peter, with you. I'll pay for his passage, but it'd just make me feel a world better about the whole thing. Is that fine with you, Peter?"

I beamed. "Yes m'am! I'd love to help Grandpa, and I'd love to meet Grand-uncle Louis and Grand-uncle Peter!" I turned to my grandpa. "What d'you say?"

He chuckled and nodded his head, "That'd be just fine. You better start packing." So, off I ran, but I looked back to catch Mom getting up and tightly hugging Grandpa, whispering something in his ear.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Sorry this update is so late, but hey, it exists! That's a win! There's been a lot happening recently, so yeah... I hope you enjoy this weird adventure, the characters won't let me in on where it's going yet, so I'll be as surprised as you!

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LAMBETH, LONDON, ENGLAND

"Oh you've got to be bleedin' kidding me." I growled, waving a finger at Grandpappy. He was sitting in his rocking chair looking about as smug as that raven that stole my sandwich a week ago, and just about as innocent as well.

"What?" He said, fiddling with the two tickets he held in his hand.

"You know very well what," I said, stalking over, "there's nothin' in this entire world that's getting me to go to Paris with you." I walked over to the side of the green chair and perched myself on the arm of it, crossing my arms grumpily.

"But don't ya love Ol' Grand-Uncle Louis?" Grandpappy asked, giving me the fakest pair of puppy dog eyes I'd ever seen (and considering I live with Willy, that's saying something). "Goodness knows 'e'd be happy to see you. An' you can't leave poor ol' Grandpappy all by his lonesome, now can ye?"

I just gave him my best glare, until the front door opened, causing me to jump slightly. Momma came in with bags of groceries in her hands, Willy bounding after her excitedly.

"Elsie, Elsie!" He cried, skipping into the room, "Guess wha'? Momma got you some fancy new things for your trip to Parrot!"

"It's Paris, Willy, but yeah, ain't it exciting?" Momma said, crossing the living room to the dining room and dumping the bags onto the table. "I can't believe you volunteered to go with your Grandpappy Newkirk, Elsie, I might not 'ave let him go otherwise!" She beamed.

"I know." I said, glaring again at Grandpappy as I walked to the table where Willy was already pulling out travel supplies and shoving them in Momma's face excitedly. I couldn't believe Grandpappy took advantage of my tendency to sleep in to tell Momma I was going to Paris with him. The nerve.

"Yeah, Ol' Andrew got his daughter convinced on account of 'is grandson volunteerin' to go, so you won't be the only youth." Grandpappy said, smirk still all too evident for my liking.

"We'll be flyin' over an' meet Andrew in Versailles, before taking the trolley to Paris. 'E already wrote me back confirmin', and 'e said 'e'll bring the clothes as well." He said, more to Momma than to me, as I was busy looking through all that Momma'd bought in her excitement.

I sighed and turned back to Grandpappy, "It'll be good to see them, as well as Pépère Louis an' Grantante Marie." I said, conceding to the trip. Grandpappy just beamed my direction.

"They'll be happy to see you too, I imagine," Momma said, putting some of the actual food groceries into the kitchen, "Seein' as they 'aven't seen you since you were wee little."

"Yeah," I said, smiling, "This might not be that bad."

"Willy, 'elp me put away the cereals, why don't you?" Momma said, juggling a large stack of cans near the pantry.

"Sure thing!" William yelled, grabbing several boxes and running into the kitchen. I walked over to Grandpappy and sat on the chair's arm again, grabbing one of the tickets to look at the details.

"Thank you." Grandpappy said, looking up at me seriously. "I know I ain't as young as I used to be, but this is something I just have to be a part of." He said, grabbing my free hand.

"You didn't have to con me if it meant tha' much to you." I said, smiling. "'Course you wouldn't be Grandpappy if you didn't, would ya?"


End file.
